Trouble
by Misya
Summary: OLD, DEAD FIC: TFA, Lockdown/Prowl. Lockdown does Prowl a 'favor', regardless of whether Prowl wants it or not.
1. Chapter 1

"Seems like we both have a habit of breaking our toys." Lockdown offered Megatron a broad smile, and hefted the roll of tools that he had tucked under his left arm. He gave the Decepticon's underground base a leisurely look-over. "So, where's the patient?"

Megatron paid him little more than a disdainful glance, then waved one of his minions over. "Lugnut, take Lockdown to the prisoner."

Lugnut saluted Megatron, then fixed Lockdown with a cautious stare. The aperture of Lugnut's central optic contracted slightly; a sort of mechanical squint. Lugnut's faceplates may have prevented him from being particularly expressive, but his hostility towards the bounty hunter was obvious. He placed himself between Megatron and Lockdown, blocking the latter's view of the Decepticon leader, then pointed to a tunnel at the back of the cave. "That way."

Lockdown hesitated, then started towards the passageway; Lugnut lumbered after him, careful to keep Lockdown in view at all times.

Eventually, Lockdown was escorted to a small, dimly-lit cell. Lugnut unbolted the door and let Lockdown inside - the Decepticon then remained in the doorway, still watching Lockdown carefully. Lockdown ignored him.

A slender, broken form was slumped in one of the cell's corners. Lockdown recognised the mech at once, although he had looked considerably healthier the last time they had met.

"Didn't think they would have caught you, kid," he said. "Thought they might have captured that annoying yellow one, or that gormless leader of theirs, maybe. But not you. I figured that you'd be more careful. Guess I was wrong."

Prowl looked up - there was a rather unpleasant grinding noise of metal on metal as he lifted his head. He stared dully at Lockdown. Despite his poor physical state, he seemed as surprised to see Lockdown as Lockdown was to see him.

"...W-what are you doing here?"

Lockdown grinned. "I'm your medic."

Prowl's gaze hardened, and he tried to sit up slightly. "Megatron has already tried interrogating me. If he thinks that you can make-..."

Lockdown cut him off. "I'm not here to interrogate you. When I said I was your medic, it wasn't cutesy euphemism for anything. I really_ am _a medic. Well. For now, at least."

Prowl responded with a derisive little laugh, causing a trickle of fresh energon to run from the corner of his mouth. "You. A medic."

"What? It's true. I know as much about putting mechs together as I do about taking them apart - and I know a _lot_ about taking mechs apart, kiddo." Lockdown crouched down next to Prowl, and opened his roll of tools out on to the floor. "The 'cons didn't have any proper docbots in the area, so they called me in, as a last resort. Megatron must've thought you were about to drop dead on him, and a dead bot's no use to anyone. C'mon, let's take a look at you."

Prowl's expression remained sullen and guarded. He flinched away as Lockdown tried to examine him.

Lockdown was able to get a better estimation of Prowl's injuries. The Autobot's legs were severely damaged, and he radiated a sickly heat. Lockdown placed a hand on Prowl's chest. "You're too warm; there's something wrong with either your temperature regulator or coolant systems. 'Fraid I can't do much about your legs, either - I'd need a proper workshop for that. Looks like the best thing that I can do right now is tell ol' Buckethead to stop smacking you around so much."

Lugnut growled, just to remind Lockdown that he was, in fact, still there. Lockdown continued to ignore him.

"You'll live - for now, at least - but you won't be able to take much more damage." Lockdown busied himself with tidying up some of Prowl's more minor wounds, sealing away exposed wires and and cleaning the grit out of open wounds. He smiled to himself. "Damn, if you could see how pathetic you look right now..."

Prowl gave him a look of naked loathing. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little." Lockdown grinned, and his tone became more sardonic. "How much have you told them?"

Prowl tensed. "I haven't told them anything, and I never will."

Lockdown tsked. "You're going to crack, eventually. Everyonecracks."

"My friends'll rescue me soon."

"Yeah, I can see they're doing a great job of that. It's obvious that you've been here a while. Some of these injuries must be at least a hundred solar cycles old, judging by the self-repair that your body has been trying to do."

Prowl didn't reply.

"Don't do anything stupid, Prowl. Just give them what they want, before Megatron gets bored and decides to scrap you."

Prowl looked up again for a second, just long enough to give Lockdown another look of hatred.

Lockdown shrugged at him. He replaced his tools back in their roll, then stood up, turning his back on Prowl and walking out.

* * *

Megatron looked up from a console as Lugnut and Lockdown returned. "Well?"

"He's stable, but there's only so much more punishment that he'll be able to take. If you beat the slag out of him a few more times, then he's not even going to be good for spare parts."

Megatron didn't sound overly interested. "The worst of the damage is the result of his constant escape attempts. They were getting tiresome, so I had to break the main servos in his legs."

"Y'know..." Lockdown said. "I'm surprised that you captured him, and not the Prime."

"I've had more important things to concern myself with." Megatron regarded Lockdown with a mixture of boredom and quiet contempt. "Optimus Prime's sad band of stragglers is fairly low on my list of priorities. Capturing the autobot was mostly down to serendipity. I doubt that he knows much that can be of use, but he might serve as bait, at least."

It seemed as if Megatron wanted to terminate the conversation there, but Lockdown had something specific in mind; "Huh. Unfortunate. The Prime'd make a better bargaining chip."

Megatron gave him a bland look. "Lockdown, where are you going with this?"

"If I bring the Prime to you, can I have the ninjabot in exchange?"

"You're more depraved then I gave you credit for." Megatron sounded mildly amused, at least.

"Thanks. So, is it a deal?"

"It's a deal,_ if _you can bring me the Prime," Megatron replied. "...And that remains to be seen. I know that the Autobots have given you trouble before. Furthermore, if I do agree to let you have the prisoner, then I don't want to see him ever again, is that clear? If he tries to take revenge on me, or whatever, then I'm going to be extremely disappointed in you. How can you guarantee that this won't happen?"

Lockdown tapped his temples with an index finger. "You know Cipher, right? He owes me a favor. I figured that I'd get him to edit the little fragger's memories a bit. After that, you won't see us around this part of the galaxy for a long time."

Megatron smiled, despite himself. "_You _know Cipher?"

"I'm a regular fraggin' social butterfly, me." Lockdown smirked.

"Of course you are. I'll credit your account with the payment for your help today. Do let me know if you ever manage to capture the Prime." Megatron still sounded somewhat skeptical; he turned away from Lockdown, and returned to the console that he had been working on.

Lugnut gave Lockdown a small nudge in the back with one of his fists, and escorted the bounty hunter out.


	2. Chapter 2

A month or so later...

It was 3 PM in the afternoon, and Optimus was driving down a quiet bystreet when he heard the sound of gunshots coming from the block ahead of him.

He immediately accelerated to investigate, and contacted the other Autobots over commlink. "Guys, we've-..." Optimus didn't get much further than that.

The next few seconds of his life seemed to take place as if the world was in slow motion:

First, someone threw a long black strip studded with spikes out on to the road, before Optimus had the chance to brake. He had just enough time to think, in a disconnected sort of way, 'hey, that's a tire deflation device.'

Then, with a terrible sort of inevitability, he ran right over it.

It hurt like a motherfragger. Acting out of reflex, he immediately transformed in to robot mode - and, during the split second while he was mid-transformation, he was hit with an EMP generator. Optimus knew it was an EMP generator, because he'd been shot by one before. It hadn't been an experience that he was likely to forget in a hurry. Granted; _this _EMP generator wasn't anywhere near as powerful, but it was enough to make him stagger.

Despite his shock and confusion, a tiny voice at the back of his head said, 'oh Primus, not again'.

He was dimly aware that Ratchet was repeatedly shouting at him over the comm channel, wanting to know what was happening. Optimus tried to respond, but couldn't. Coherent sentences eluded him. He fumbled for his axe, just managing to grab the stave, when... Someone blasted him with the EMP generator a second time. He dropped the weapon, his optics shut down, and the ground rose up to meet him; Optimus barely felt it as he hit the concrete.

Before he could get his wits back, a pair of stasis cuffs had already been slapped on to his wrists.

"Surprise," Lockdown said.

Optimus couldn't see the bounty hunter, but he didn't have to; he would have recognised that voice anywhere.

Optimus managed to get his optics online again, and tried to sit up. He was still too stunned to work out what _quite_ had happened just then, but fortunately, instinct and training soon took over. He quickly radioed his situation and co-ordinates back to Ratchet via commlink, then focused on Lockdown. Optimus looked for an opportunity, a weakness, an opening,_ anything_...

Lockdown sauntered over, smiling to himself. "...And _this_ is for the time I crashed my ship 'cos of you." He took hold of one of the antennae on Optimus' helm, and (with considerable force) twisted out of shape. Optimus flinched; however, Lockdown didn't seem interested in further retribution. The bounty hunter started to drag the Autobot away.

"Stop and think about what you're doing, Lockdown," Optimus said. "Think about what happened the _last_ time you tried to hand me over to Megatron. Think about how _that_ ended. I'm more trouble than I'm worth, Lockdown. I'm a Prime." He loathed pulling rank, but it wasn't as if he had a lot of options right now. It seemed unlikely that his friends would get here before they reached Lockdown's ship. All he could do was stall for time. At least he was currently conscious, which was a considerable improvement on the last time Lockdown had attacked him. "If something happens to me, it'll fall under the jurisdiction of the Elite Guard." He dug his heels in to the ground, leaving furrows in the surface of the road. "_You're not going to capture me this easily."_

Lockdown kicked Optimus' legs out from under him, then gave him another kick in the abdomen, for good measure. "Easy? That wasn't easy. None of this is easy. It only _looks _easy because of the planning involved. I've been observing your patrol patterns for six weeks straight so's I'd know where to set a good trap. I thought I was never gonna get you by yourself without those other chuckleheads hanging around you. I've fought you before. I knew what to expect." He hauled Optimus towards an alleyway, where his ship was concealed as a dilapidated building.

Soon enough, Optimus gave up struggling, and just concentrated on trying to plan ahead.

* * *

A deft whack around the head ensured that Optimus was out cold during the journey to the Decepticon's underground hideout. Lockdown didn't want the Autobot to be able to get his bearings or radio his team-mates, and damned if he was taking any chances this time. As soon as the ship landed, Lockdown contacted the Decepticons to announce his arrival, then carried Optimus to the entrance of the mine that they were using as their base. Lockdown made sure to 'accidentally' smack Optimus' head on the side of the tunnel wall as he entered.

Of course, Lugnut and Blitzwing were waiting for him - the latter mech offered Lockdown a wary nod, which seemed about as friendly as he was willing to get. Lockdown handed Optimus over to the triple-changer, who immediately switched to his Random persona and (rather worryingly) promised to 'love him und pet him und call him Jörg'. Lugnut just fixed Lockdown with a baleful glare, then led him to Megatron's layer.

Megatron_ did _look pleasantly surprised to see the bounty hunter again. "Oh. You managed to catch him. How did you do it?"

Lockdown gave Megatron a rather forced smile. The Decepticon leader had a natural aptitude for being condescending, well-honed over millions of years. "I just stalked him for a while, then detonated some gunshot simulator as a distraction, _then _grabbed him before he knew what hit him." Of course, that was an over-simplification; the Autobots had stepped up their security after Prowl's capture, and they nearly always travelled together as a group. It had required a _lot _of patience to catch Optimus while the mech was alone and unguarded. Lockdown knew how to create his own advantages, though; he'd even purchased a new EMP generator especially for the job. Not exactly medical-grade, but hey; it had evidently paid off.

Blitzwing dumped the unconscious Optimus on the ground by Megatron's feet. "Vhat shall we do with him?"

"Once our other Autobot prisoner has vacated his cell, put him in there. Lugnut, escort Lockdown to his reward, then show him out."

Lockdown was about to follow Lugnut, when Megatron seemed to remember something; "Oh, one more thing..."

Lockdown stopped right where he was.

Megatron smiled without warmth. "I recall that you were going to take the Autobot to Cipher, correct? _Do_ give my regards to Cipher when you see him. I find his unwillingness to aid the Decepticon cause very... unfortunate. Programmers of his calibre are difficult to find these days. His reticence may have unfortunate consequences."

Megatron then seemed to lose interest in Lockdown, and walked away.

"I'll pass your concerns on to him," Lockdown said, rather awkwardly, and hurried after Lugnut again.

* * *

Prowl heard footsteps drawing closer to the doorway to his cell. He didn't bother to look up. There were two mechs approaching - one was definitely Lugnut, while the other... might have been Blitzwing. No, that wasn't right. Prowl had come to know the sound of the Decepticons' footsteps well over the past few months, and this was someone different.

"Hey, kid."

_Now_ Prowl bothered to look up. Lockdown was in the doorway, with Lugnut standing behind him. Prowl searched for something derisive and flippant to say, then decided that he just didn't have the energy. "Oh. It's you again."

"What, don't I get a hello?" Lockdown walked over to Prowl, and gave him a cursory look over. He noticed that Prowl had a few extra injuries since the last time he'd seen him. "...Lugnut, he's missing two of his fingers. I'm pretty sure he had ten fingers the last time I was here. Yeah. I_ distinctly _remember ten fingers. Now he has_ eight_. What the frag, Lugnut?"

"Lord Megatron may remove as many of a prisoner's body parts as Lord Megatron wishes," Lugnut replied, in a subharmonic growl.

Lockdown looked mildly exasperated for a few seconds, then frowned at Prowl. As Prowl's legs were still ruined and useless, Lockdown just picked him up and threw him over one shoulder.

Prowl still had a shred of pride remaining, and this shred of pride objected sorely to being carried around like a sack of spanners. "Lockdown, _what the frag are you doing_?"

"You'd rather I carry you in my arms, instead?"

Prowl repeated his previous question, just in case his shock and anger wasn't obvious enough the first time. "...Lockdown, what the...?"

"Funnily enough," Lockdown answered. "I'm saving your life."

Prowl didn't really have the strength left for proper indignation. All he had was a sort of watered-down vitriol and exhausted sarcasm. "I think I'd prefer being left in the cell."

"Yeah, see, that's the thing - you don't actually get a say in the matter."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Prowl - as the humans say, never look a gift horse in the mouth."

Prowl fell silent. This was one hell of an ugly-looking gift horse.

As Lockdown carried him out, he just focused on his surroundings; committing details to memory, creating a visual map of the area, trying to figure out escape routes or find terrain features that he could use to his advantage. He had tried to escape before, and he kept a mental record of the areas that he had passed through before the Decepticons had found him, but... It was now all quite pointless, given that he was unable to walk. Still; at least it made him feel like he was doing something constructive.

Eventually, the strain of the last few months took its toll on him, and the steady rhythm of Lockdown's footsteps lulled him in to stasis.

* * *

Shortly after Prowl was removed fro the cell, Blitzwing threw Optimus in it. The Decepticons made quite sure that the two Autobots didn't pass each other as Optimus was taken _in _to the cell and Prowl was taken _out_.

Hours passed. Optimus slowly woke up, and clutched at his head, waiting for the nausea to subside. Once he felt steady enough to stand up again, he began to inspect his surroundings. It was dark, but the image intensifiers in his optics meant that he still had some limited vision. His sight was just good enough for him to notice the old stains of spilled energon on the floor.

After a bit of wandering around, he ran his hands over the cell's doorway; it was barred from outside, and its hinges were crude and primitive. The cell's security wasn't anything special, although the energon stains suggested that the Decepticons had_ other _ways of making sure their prisoners didn't escape.

Allegedly, the Decepticons had never been big on the whole, 'taking prisoners' thing.

Optimus paced up and down the cell. He tried to think of something clever, something shrewd, _something _that would help him get out alive. Primes were expected to be competent strategists as well as soldiers. However, whenever he tried to think, he found himself worrying about the other Autobots. They could cope quite well without him, and Ratchet would probably take over as the de facto leader of the group, but... All the same. He worried. Morale had been low ever since Prowl's capture, and the past few months had been tought on them all.

His mind wandered as he walked about. Time became meaningless. As he had little better to do, he made a thorough inspection of the cell's walls. They were rough and unfinished, little more than bare, damp rock. Halfway through his search, his hand disturbed a loose stone in the wall's surface.

_Ah ha._

Optimus lifted the stone away, and placed it on the ground. The stone had concealed a small hole in the wall - there was obviously something hidden in there. Optimus reached in and picked the item up, so that he could examine it.

It took him a few seconds to realize what it was.

It was a severed finger. One end of it terminated in a raw tangle of damaged wires, where it had once connected to a hand. Judging by the dull gold of the dermal plating, it seemed pretty likely that it had once been _Prowl's_ finger.

Optimus immediately dropped it in horror.

It clattered against the ground. Optimus stared down at it, then slowly stooped to pick it up - as he crouched, he glanced down at the stone that had been concealing the hole in the first place.

There was something inscribed on the back of it. Patterns and glyphs. Optimus picked it up the stone to a better look. It seemed like someone had drawn a rudimentary map, albeit an incomplete one.

It wasn't that much of a stretch to suppose that it was a map of the base. In fact, one of the 'rooms' appeared to have a tiny inscription beneath it. Optimus squinted at the text. He could hear Prowl's deadpan voice in his head as he read it. The text said, 'you are here'.

Optimus set his jaw, then replaced the stone back in its hole. It slotted in neatly; once again, the map was hidden from view. Suddenly feeling a lot more stoic about things, he tentatively picked up the severed finger, and took another look at it. One side of it had been worn down to a fine edge, likely by hours spent grinding it against the stone floor, and the tip had been formed in to a tapered point. The digit had been made in to a weapon. Or a tool.

In a strange way, it gave him hope, and that was enough. Optimus allowed himself a very small smile, then quickly returned the object to its hiding place.

There were footsteps approaching.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: God willing, Trouble SHOULD get updated every weekend from now on. That way, it gives me time to make sure that I'm a few chapters ahead before I post it.

* * *

Optimus waited for his cell door to open. However, the footsteps seemed to stop behind it, and the door remained closed.

"Ah, good. Your energy signature tells me that you're awake," Megatron said, from outside. "I thought we might have a little chat." When Optimus didn't reply, he continued; "First, I would like to make one thing clear: I have little interest in pointless sadism. I will only hurt you if you aggravate me. I'm going to credit you with more intelligence than that ninja friend of yours, and hope that you refrain from doing anything stupid."

"What did you do with Prowl?!" Optimus had meant to sound calm and impassive, but found that he was shouting.

"He's probably still alive."

"Where is he?"

"Shouldn't you be worrying more about yourself? I don't see a crack team of Elite Guard commandos about to burst in here and whisk you away any time soon. Perhaps they've forgotten about you. Your friend was here for months before he was, ahem, 'rescued'. I wonder if he thought you'd forgotten about _him_."

That hit a nerve. "We tried," Optimus said.

"You don't get points for effort, Optimus."

Optimus turned his back on the cell door, and listened to Megatron walk away.

* * *

Prowl awoke on a gurney, aboard Lockdown's ship.

The first thing he noticed was that he felt different, and it took him a moment to figure out why: he was no longer in pain. His legs were much better, and when he carefully waggled the fingers on his left hand, it felt as if the missing ones had been replaced.

He tried to sit up, and realized that he was restrained. Well, of course. That wasn't much of a surprise.

Prowl lifted his head, and glanced around. He seemed to be in an infirmary, of sorts. There was a lot of, uh, _medical equipment_ hanging on the walls, and the floor had drains built in to it.

Sometimes, it was better not to analyse things too deeply.

With a small sigh, he looked down at his new fingers, and noticed that they were colored a rather gaudy shade of orange. Prowl absently wondered who the fingers had once belonged to.

"Mornin', Princess." Lockdown's voice came from the far end of the room. Prowl hadn't seen him there, which was no mean feat considering that Lockdown was painted acid green and black. Prowl tried to focus his optics, and found it surprisingly difficult to adjust his depth of field. The world was still slightly fuzzy, as if his visor needed cleaning.

Lockdown wandered over, carrying a few cubes of energon, and unfastened the restraints that held Prowl's arms, so that Prowl was able to sit up somewhat. Prowl hesitated, then grabbed one of the cubes. He didn't know when he'd see fuel again, and he needed his strength.

Prowl devoured the energon, but kept his optics fixed on Lockdown the entire time. When he was done, he asked, "Where are you taking me?"

Lockdown winked at him. "That'd be telling."

Prowl just gave Lockdown a weary look.

Despite his circumstance, Prowl was feeling markedly better. The absence of pain was a strange, alien feeling, almost euphoric. Prowl had known better medics, but he had to admit that Lockdown was moderately competent, even if he didn't think much of his bedside manner. Prowl chose to downplay his improvement in mood, and feigned drowsiness, slouching heavily and regulating the cycle of his vents so that his systems appeared to be functioning at low efficiency. He sighed. "Do you tie up_ everyone _you meet?"

"Nah. Just the ones I really like."

Prowl noted Lockdown's smug smile, and was struck by an unpleasant thought. He glanced down at his chassis, checking the panels of his armor, and ran a quick diagnostic on himself.

It was as if Lockdown read his thoughts. "Don't worry, I didn't do anything to you while you were out cold. Only time I touched you was when I was fixing your injuries." The smile broadened. "It's no fun when they're unconscious." Lockdown sounded as if he spoke from experience on that, too.

Prowl inwardly winced.

Lockdown paused, and looked pensive. "However, given that you're awake now..."

Too fast, he struck the flat of his hand against Prowl's chest, slamming the Autobot back against the gurney and using his full weight to keep him pinned there. Prowl flailed, trying to locate a vulnerable spot on the bounty hunter's face or torso - but Lockdown was bigger, and his reach exceeded Prowl's. Prowl's hands clawed at the empty air. Lockdown seemed content to watch him struggle.

Prowl soon recognised the futility of it, and let his arms drop to his sides.

"Good," Lockdown said, fondly. The tip of his hook trailed down Prowl's side, scoring a silvery line across the dermal plating. Lockdown slowly leaned in, until their faces were level.

And Prowl headbutted him, hard.

The edge of his crest caught Lockdown in the optic, cracking the surface and causing Lockdown to recoil with a wordless shout of rage. Prowl braced himself; he was expecting some kind of retaliation, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had fought back. The energon from Lockdown's damaged optic dripped on to his face.

For a very long moment, it really did look like Lockdown had only been encouraged by Prowl's attack, but... For some reason, he hesitated, and seemed to consider something.

Lockdown hit Prowl so hard that his optics went offline, then secured the restrains again while Prowl was too stunned to react. Lockdown then stomped out of the room, a hand pressed against his injury, his mood thoroughly ruined.

Prowl lay on the gurney for what seemed like a long time, unmoving. He felt more than slightly ill.

Still, he was alive. Things could always be worse.

In his dazed state, he only knew one thing: he had to escape. If he didn't, who would make sure Sari brushed her teeth? They had better not have been feeding her on pizza and burgers while he had been gone. And what if no-one had watered his bonsai trees? No, wait - Sari would probably water his bonsai trees. For the love of Primus, he hoped that they could get her to eat her vegetables (french fries and ketchup didn't count), or some fruit, at least. An apple once a day was better than nothing, and you could sneakily get her to eat an orange if you peeled it for her first...

He blinked, and the world came in to focus, although the nausea hadn't quite passed yet. Impatiently, he waited for his head to clear. Pain was an inevitable fact of life, something temporary that was to be tolerated until it passed. When he felt relatively healthy again, he took a good look at the restraint which held his left wrist.

The locking device appeared to be was mechanical, with no electronic parts. It was a sort of snap fastener that didn't require a key, although it was nigh-impossible for the prisoner to unfasten the thing while their wrists were secured by it. Prowl tested his range of movement, and found it severely limited. It looked like he would have to try using brute force.

First, he tried to force the restraint open, but it was no good. The cuff had been designed for stronger mechs than him.

That left only one option.

Prowl had learned about it from his Circuit-Su training, although he didn't feel very enthused about trying it. There had to be a better way, although damned if he could think of one. He doubted that he would get far by negotiating with Lockdown.

Ah, well. _Here goes. _

Prow steadied his mind, then pulled his right hand down hard against the restraint - the cuff snagged on the heel of his palm, digging in to it.

Despite this, he still kept pulling, until the discomfort rose from a nagging ache to a crescendo of agony. Very slowly, the dermal plating of his hand started to buckle as he tried to pull it through the cuff. The worst part was, he wasn't even sure if this would work; it hurt like a bastard, there was always the risk that would run out of willpower before he managed to get his hand free. There were Circuitsu techniques that allowed the practitioner to shut down pain receptors, but Prowl only knew a few basic ones of limited use. _I wish I'd learned the more advanced techniques_, he thought to himself. _They would have come in 'handy'. Ha. Ha. Aaugh. _

After what felt like an eternity, there was a slow series of crunching sounds as the delicate servomechanisms in his hand twisted and broke, leaving Prowl able to deform his hand enough to slip it out of the restraint. Warning messages flooded his vision, and he silently ran through a litany of creative obscenities, most of which he had learned from Bumblebee.

Next came the fun part: he had to use his damaged right hand to open the restraint on his _un_damaged left one. When he tried to bend his fingers, they made an unnatural grating sound. While he knew that pain was an inevitable fact of life, something temporary that was to be tolerated until it passed, the knowledge didn't make it hurt any less.

Somehow, after a lot of clumsy pawing at the fastening, he got the restraint on his good hand to snap open.

With that ordeal out of the way, he unfastened the cuffs around his legs, and sat up. Ever so carefully, he tried to stand; his legs still felt heavy and strangely independent of the rest of him. It had been a while since he had walked. He kept close to the walls of the room as he made his way out. Melee combat was probably best avoided until he had got used to standing upright again.

The door wasn't locked, thank Primus, Primon and Prima. Lockdown had underestimated him.

Prowl opened the door just enough so that he could peer out in to the corridor beyond, then snuck out. His first priority was to find something that he could use as a weapon.

* * *

Lockdown stuck some sealant and a metal patch over his optic to prevent further loss of energon. The sensor was damaged beyond use; he'd have to replace the outer elements of it later. The task could wait. Right now, he had other things on his mind. The sooner he got Prowl to Cipher, the better.

He wandered around the ship's bridge, impatiently checking on system diagnostics. The vessel practically flew itself, although he still felt compelled to babysit it. Being in space for long stretches at a time tended to make a mech superstitious, and Lockdown had to admit it: he didn't completely trust ships. Not even the sentient ones.

_Especially _not the sentient ones.

Fortunately, his ship was currently about as sentient as a rock. He gave one of the walls a small pat.

As he paced up and down, he idly considered going back to check on Prowl - although first, he wanted to think of a good way to get him back for the loss of his optic. The little fragger was going to lose his memory, right? That meant that Lockdown could do whatever he wanted to him, and it wouldn't matter in the long term. Lockdown didn't want to do anything that would cause physical damage (and require further repairs), but there were still plenty of ways to hurt a mech without laying a finger on him.

He paused, and regarded the central viewscreen, frowning to himself.

There was this nagging feeling that something wasn't right.

After a moment, he realized that it was because he could sense another mech's energy field, just at the very edge of his perception. The field was either weak, or deliberately suppressed.

_Oh fuck,_ as the humans were so fond of saying.

Lockdown slowly turned around to see Prowl standing in the bridge's doorway, pointing a coilgun at him.

"Don't move," Prowl said. "You're taking me back to Earth."

"How the frag did you escape?"

Prowl answered the question by waving his mangled right hand at Lockdown. Prowl had experienced a rough couple of months, and - despite his recent repairs - he was still looking pretty frayed around the edges. In his own quiet way, the ninjabot was clearly madder than a bag of turbofoxes.

"You broke your own hand to escape, and now you're threatening me with one of my own weapons?" Lockdown was smitten. "I think... I love you."

"Take me back to Earth, you interstellar bondage freak, or I'm going to shoot you where you stand." There was a quiet whine as the capacitor of the coil gun started to warm up.

_You wouldn't shoot me_, Lockdown thought.

Prowl held the gun awkwardly, and the fact that he had picked a projectile weapon suggested that was unfamiliar with firearms - plasma weapons were more effective against Cybertronians. Lockdown's instincts told him to err on the side of caution, but Prowl looked so dishevelled and miserable that it was actually kind of funny. Besides, firing a weapon at someone was harder than it looked. How would Prowl be able to aim properly, with only one hand? Had he even used a gun before? Did he know how to pull the trigger without breaking his fraggin' wrist from the recoil? And didn't shooting people go against the whole 'ninja ethos' thing?

_No. You wouldn't shoot me, you're a-..._

Prowl shot him. In the kneecap.

"OW." Lockdown buckled over in pain and leaned heavily against the nearest console. The shock was worse than the pain. He steadied himself. "...Alright, I probably had that coming. Prowl, listen to me: if you-..."

Prowl tried to shoot him again, out sheer spite. The bullet missed and ricocheted off the wall. Negotiation didn't seem to be an option.

Alright, with twenty-twenty hindsight; Lockdown didn't find Prowl's sudden penchant for kneecapping people _that _surprising. Swindle had warned him about the Autobots on Earth. It was a small mercy that Prowl _wasn't_ using a plasma weapon. Still... Lockdown had learned his lesson from the last time he'd fell foul of Ratchet and the others. He had upgraded his security systems. Sometimes, twenty-twenty hindsight paid off.

Lockdown pre-emptively shut off his audio sensors, then said, "Ship: activate 'uninvited guest'."

The bridge was filled with an ultrasonic scream; a cacophony of frequencies designed to frag up Cybertronian processors. Prowl immediately grabbed his head and staggered back. Lockdown knew that the ninjabot would have the sense to turn his own sensors off in the hope of blocking the sound, but it didn't matter; the damage had been done. Even when the noise stopped, Prowl would still be hearing it.

Or at least, so Lockdown hoped. You never could tell with ninjabots.

Prowl curled up on the floor, in too much pain to really do anything, although he still kept trying to aim at Lockdown.

Lockdown limped over and gently took the gun out of Prowl's hand before the Autobot tried shooting him again, probably somewhere above the knee this time.

"Should've tried to kill me when you had the chance," he said, with a strange sort of sympathy, then hobbled over to the nearest vidscreen. He hailed a familiar frequency. "Swindle - I need to order a stasis inducer from you. And bring me a new kneecap."

* * *

Lockdown secured Prowl to the gurney again, and knocked him unconscious (slag, he seemed to be doing that to peoplea lot, of late). It now seemed pretty unlikely that the ninjabot was going to make another escape attempt, although Lockdown was still set on using a stasis inducer anyway, just in case the crazy fragger tried to chew his own arms off to escape or something. Primus, no wonder Megatron had needed to cripple the Autobot's legs.

He kept a beady eye on Prowl until Swindle's ship arrived, then limped to the airlock to meet the arms dealer.

"Hey. Niiiiiiice eye patch." Swindle gave him a double thumbs-up.

Lockdown didn't dignify the comment with a response. "Bring the stasis inducer, and follow me."

As soon as they were in the infirmary, Swindle's attention went to the unconscious Autobot. "...I think I recognise him. Bounty of yours?"

"Nah. Just a project I'm working on." Lockdown took the stasis inducer, and hooked Prowl up to it. If that didn't put Prowl's systems in limbo, nothing would. The device was designed to keep Cybertronians online but unconscious during long-distance space travel. As a sedative, it was without peer. Lockdown should have bough one of the damn things earlier. Maybe then he wouldn't have to keep punching people unconscious so often.

Swindle said, "Well, if you cut him up for parts, then I'm willing to offer you an excellent price for the purchase of his head. I think that it would make a very fetching spittoon for someone."

"I'm not going to cut him up for spare parts."

"Lockdown, I hesitate to ask, but: what are you going to do with an entire mech?"

Lockdown smiled thinly. "I collect trophies, right?" He gestured to Prowl. "This one is just a bit... larger than most."

"Are you going to stuff him with injection foam and mount him on a pedestal?" Swindle's expression was one of polite bemusement.

"No."

"Well, when you do kill him, can I at least watch?"

"I'm not going to kill him," Lockdown said, rather awkwardly.

Swindle gave him a blank look. "Wait..." It took him a moment to figure it out. "...Wait. If you want a pet, can't you just get a nice Martian Flatcat or something? I know a Cetacean who does a great price on Mecannibals. You should get one of those, it might be less inclined to _murder you in cold blood_."

Lockdown held up a hand. "He's not gonna murder me in cold blood, Swin. I'm going to take him to see Cipher - get his memories deleted, alter his core program so's he's not going to be a problem, y'know... That sort of thing."

Swindle's expression didn't change a bit. He made a sort of 'whatever' gesture.

Lockdown changed the subject. "How's business?"

"It's been good. The 'Con terrorists - sorry, I mean _revolutionaries_..." Swindle started over. "The 'Con _revolutionaries_ on Cybertron have been a lot more active lately, even without Megatron around. They must have someone on-planet who's co-ordinating them. Big demand for weapons, all of a sudden. So, it's been a seller's market."

"Huh." Lockdown considered this as wandered over to a set of drawers, and dug out the collection of oddments. He soon found the few bits and pieces that were required to fix his damaged optic. "C'mere, give me a hand with putting these lenses in."

"No. I am _not _removing your damaged optic components and putting new ones in for you." Swindle looked mildly disgusted.

"Come on, it's really easy," Lockdown wheedled. "You only need to replace the outer elements. You just get a sharp object and pop them right out, then..."

Swindle was adamant. "_No_."

Lockdown tsked. "For a war profiteer, you sure are squeamish. I'm going to find a mirror so's I can do it myself." He paused, then added, "...Don't touch the Autobot."

The arms-dealer rolled his optics. "Don't worry, I don't want anything to do with your precious ninja," he said, sounding bored. "You're the only one who wants to touch him, not me."

Lockdown eyed him, and left the room.

* * *

Swindle took a seat on a gurney opposite Prowl, and whistled to himself. He twiddled his thumbs.

He waited, until it seemed obvious that Lockdown wasn't going to return in a hurry.

Then, he wandered over to Prowl, and switched the stasis field off. Prowl was still out cold, so Swindle gave him a few sharp smacks around the head until he was fully awake.

Eventually, Prowl's optics blinked online, and he focused on Swindle.

"Heeey there," Swindle said, and pointed one of his arm-cannons at the Autobot, just in case he tried any ninja shenanigans. "Remember me?"

Prowl simply glared at him, not in the mood for conversation.

"Of course you do. I was the mech you left to be dismantled in some spark-forsaken Earthling chop-shop. I assume that Lockdown has told you what the deal is, correct?"

Prowl still said nothing, but it was now clear that Swindle had his rapt attention.

"What, you don't know?" Swindle said, with a sort of theatrical glee. Cybertronian language didn't have a word equivalent to 'schadenfreude', but that didn't deter Swindle from indulging in it. "Megatron handed you over to Lockdown in exchange for Optimus Prime. So, while you're here, strapped to a gurney, somewhere across the galaxy, your boss is probably also strapped to a gurney, being stripped for spare parts. Funny how things work out. Cheer up, though - you won't be stuck here for long. Lockdown is taking you to a mind-hacker who's going to give your programming an overhaul. I don't know what it'll involve, exactly, but I bet you'll be a lot more_ agreeable _when he's done with you. It also makes this conversation kind of pointless, as you're likely going to lose a good chunk of your memories in the process. I bet... you're going to forget about your time on Earth, the names of your team-mates, all that fun stuff. And-..." Swindle flashed him a fantastic grin. "In five nanokliks, I'm going to put you back in stasis again, so there's nothing you can do about any of it. The next time you wake up, you might be a completely different mech. I guess that it's a bit like dying, in a way."

Swindle's hand hovered over the keypad of the stasis controls, and he started to count down;

"5."

Prowl's good hand reflexively curled in to a fist, tight enough to leave deep scratches in the plating of his palm. "Swindle!"

"4."

"Swindle, I swear that..."

"3."

"...you're going to regret this, Swindle!"

"2."

"WAIT! Please!"

"1."

Prowl grimaced, expecting darkness.

It didn't come.

"You told me to wait," said Swindle. "So I thought, 'hey, why not?' Want to try negotiating with me? Maybe do some begging?" He offered another amiable smile. "Make it good."

Prowl tried to fix him with a steady gaze, although it came across as 'desperate' rather than 'stoic'. "Swindle, you're a businessmech - there must be something you can gain from this situation. I want to make a dea-..."

"Nope, not good enough," Swindle interrupted, and pressed a switch.

Prowl instantly fell unconscious as the stasis inducer took effect again.

Swindle walked out of the room, feeling pretty chipper, and went to see where Lockdown had got to.


	4. Chapter 4

Lockdown quickly paid Swindle and shooed him away. He had no interest in purchasing whatever McGuffin-of-the-week the arms dealer was peddling.

There were things that needed to be done. Most of them involved Prowl.

The Autobot could do with a few customizations. A few cosmetic changes wouldn't hurt, although the phrase, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' sprung to mind. It would be _nice _if Prowl was completely unrecognisable, but that kind of defeated the point of picking such a pretty 'bot in the first place.

So, the first thing that Lockdown did was try to pry off Prowl's visor. It seemed to be pretty well attached to Prowl's face, so Lockdown gave the visor a hard yank.

There was a rather unpleasant snapping noise as something broke.

Well. _That_ sounded painful. Lockdown sheepishly grabbed a pair of cable cutters and snipped the remaining wires that connected the visor to Prowl's visual processors.

Once the visor was completely free, he examined the device; as he suspected, it seemed to be more than just a protective feature. Probably allowed for infrared perception or whatever. Most visors were basic mods, acting as one large optical sensor to give the wearer a larger field of vision. They also had the added benefit of making the wearer's facial expression slightly harder to read, although Lockdown had never really seen the point in that. He wanted his opponents to see his face while he fought.

Prowl's face seemed oddly naked without the visor on. Despite his state of stasis, the Autobot was still frowning. Lockdown took the corners of Prowl's mouth, and pulled them in to a smile. The expression looked completely ridiculous. Lockdown let go, allowing Prowl's mouth to form its usual pout.

Lockdown clipped the visor to his own face for slag-n-giggles, took a moment to admire himself in the reflection of his hook, then considered Prowl's optics. They looked rather _messy_, given that the visor had been connected via Prowl's optical sockets, but that was easily remedied. Changing their color from blue to purple would be a simple programming job. Cipher could fix that. In the meantime, he needed to fix Prowl's (still broken) right hand, and possibly give Prowl's audio sensors an upgrade. Not that Prowl's existing audio sensors were anything to scoff at, but Lockdown had a spare pair that he'd 'borrowed' from an overclocked punk back in Iacon, and he might as well put them to good use.

He arranged his tools so that everything he needed was within arm's reach, and got to work. It was good to have a hobby.

There were still plenty of loose ends that'd need tying up. At the very least, Lockdown intended to tell Cipher to delete the serial number from Prowl's CPU. Without a serial number, it was nigh-impossible to officially identify a mech - and they were something of a mixed blessing, anyway. On one hand, mechs without a serial number technically had no legal rights. On the other hand (or hook), the Cybetronian authorities used serial numbers to track the activity of its citizens, 'for their own good'. A Cybertronian might change names a lot, but their serial number would always stay the same.

If Lockdown really wanted to be thorough, he could have hired someone to crack in to the government data banks and delete all mention of Prowl from its records, but there was a limit to how much time and money he was willing to invest in the kid.

Frag it, sometimes he wondered if he was going senile from entropy. The ninjabot seemed like an awful lot of trouble.

And what would he do if Prowl ever found out his real identity? Lockdown would probably just have to kill him.

Still. Be fun while it lasted.

* * *

Back on Earth, the Autobots were decidedly less cheerful.

Ratchet had put himself in charge of trying to contact the Elite Guard, using Optimus' encryption key to access their frequency. When he finally managed to get through, he found himself looking at Sentinel Prime.

Sentinel seemed surprised to see him. "What do you want? I assume you're aware of article eighty-two of the Uniform Code, which states that it is verboten for an NCO to use an officer's encryption key without-..."

Ratchet interrupted. "We think the 'Cons have got Optimus."

"How long has he been gone?"

"Two solar cycles."

Sentinel frowned slightly. "I'll inform Ultra Magnus."

_Sure, that's exactly what when we first lost Prowl, _Ratchet thought._ When you contacted us again, you gave us a load of slag about how you couldn't spare the resources, and told us to hang on. That was _months _ago. _Granted, it hadn't helped that the conversation had deteriorated in to a shouting match between Sentinel and Optimus, but...

"What's going to happen next?" Ratchet asked.

"I need to go through the proper channels." Sentinel's frown deepened. "It's complicated."

Not for the first time, it struck Ratchet that Sentinel had an extremely punchable face.

"Sentinel," Ratchet said, very slowly. He omitted the mech's rank on purpose. "I believe that you are incompetent, mean-spirited, and denser than a block of Osmium. However,_ I refuse to believe that you are so incompetent, mean spirited, and above all, STUPID that you wouldn't pull your finger out of your exhaust pipe and try to help to rescue a comrade who you've known for centuries_."

Sentinel looked as if he couldn't decide whether he should be angry or not. "Now wait a fragging minute, you outdated heap of scrap," he began. "I... You..._ That's not fair._"

Ratchet knew Sentinel's kind: he was a bully, and bullies tended to be cowards. Ratchet doubted that Sentinel would court martial him for being disrespectful to an officer... And if he did, Ratchet was too angry to care.

"We're meant to be waiting on-... I mean, I... I don't have the authority to..." Sentinel was still stuck between guilt and indignation.

"So pull some strings. You're meant to be a Prime."

"I'll see what I can do." Sentinel abruptly terminated the transmission.

Ratchet stared at the blank screen for a few seconds, then started to count to ten. He had to calm himself down before leaving the room, or he'd probably end up scaring Sari.

* * *

After what felt like a long trip, Lockdown's ship reached the border of Autobot jurisdiction. Like most criminals, Cipher chose to live on the edge of Cybertronian 'territory', so that he was still within reach of civilisation while avoiding the worst of the Autobot patrols. Decepticon raids were always a problem, so Cipher's lab was aboard a trigger-happy frigate called Delta Zenith.

Delta was bulky, ancient, and paranoid. Self-aware warships were relatively uncommon these days - and if they all shared Delta's temperament, then it was no wonder why.

Lockdown hailed the vessel, before Delta could mistake him for a 'Con scavenger and blast him in to space debris.

"What," Delta said, over a comm channel. For a being of such size, Delta's vocalizer was surprisingly high-pitched. Lockdown had always wondered if the vessel identified as a femme, but there was no way he was ever going to get close enough to Delta's subsystems to find out.

Lockdown made a strained attempt to be polite. "Pardon?"

"What," Delta asked, "Do you want?"

"This is Lockdown, requesting permission to dock. I'm here to see Cipher about business."

"Permission granted. Proceed to docking bay five." The words might have been polite and formal, but Delta's tone was about as welcoming as a kick in the interface port.

Lockdown let the autopilot handle the docking procedures, then carried Prowl, stasis inducer 'n all, to the airlock. As soon as he put one foot on board the frigate, Delta's internal security cameras all swivelled to watch his every movement. It was nice to know he was trusted.

The inside of the ship was grubby and overcrowded. Cipher was hardly the only passenger; Delta also carried a group of cryptovirologists, an unlicensed medic, and a vicious cabal of mini-con pirates. Delta acted as bodyguard, peacekeeper, and interstellar landlord (or landlady?) for the lot of them. From what Lockdown heard, everyone was _terribly _good about keeping up with the rent.

He found Cipher's lab easily enough. It was situated in the area that used to be the ship's brig. (Delta didn't have much use for a brig. Delta just airlocked people.) Cipher must have been expecting him, as the door was unlocked; Lockdown stepped in, and immediately put a hand over his olfactory sensors. The room smelled like spent energon and dead nanites.

Cipher was in a corner, with a mop. "Sorry about the stink. Some acquaintances of mine wanted me to question a 'bot for them. The 'bot didn't react very well." He gave Lockdown a smile. "How can I help you?"

Lockdown hefted Prowl off his shoulder, and set him down on a nearby workbench. "Alright, bear with me. There's this mech. He's potentially useful. But he's doesn't seem to know what's best for himself. He's had a few bad run-ins with powerful mechs, and I need to ensure that he's not gonna do anything stupid."

Cipher wandered over, clearly interested; he was a sort of modified medibot, with dermal plating that was pockmarked with datajack sockets. If Lockdown hadn't been so desensitized, he probably would have found Cipher repulsive; for the love of Primus, the mech was covered in _orifices_. The sockets gave away Cipher's caste and occupation and occupation as a programmer. Specifically, he was what they called a kleptographer. Cipher dealt in endopsychic interrogation and manipulation - or mind-rape, as it was known in vulgar argot.

Lockdown continued; "I want you to get his head straightened out. Delete the last thousand or so stellar cycles of his memory, and scrap all that superfluous Autobot propaganda drek. Try to leave his base personality and combat skills intact. He's no good to me if you turn him in to a protoform, and he's less than useless if he loses his fighting ability. Also, I need an easy way of subduing him if he ever tries to cause trouble again. Like, a killswitch with a verbal trigger. Y'know. A way of saying, 'down, boy'."

"That's no small request, Lockdown. Erasing data is easy, but selectively editing so that some bits are missing and others are left untouched is a lot more complicated. You're asking for what we refer to as 'laser-guided amnesia', and that's expensive. How much are you willing to pay for all this?"

"You owe me a favor. I'd've thought that counted for something."

"There are limits to my generosity," Cipher said. "I'll quote you for ten thousand credits, and that's with a discount."

"That's... more than I had in mind." _Primus, _Lockdown thought, _I'm too old for this slag_. The inside of his optic itched fiercely as the nanoassembers tried to create fresh connections between the new components and the old ones. "I was thinking of around seven thousand credits, maybe."

"I won't go lower than nine thousand. If you don't like it, you could always go to Bombshell."

Lockdown grunted. "Nine thousand is fine." Bombshell wasn't an option. Bombshell was just... unpleasant. Even by Lockdown's standards.

Speaking of unpleasantness...

"I saw Megatron a while back. He says hi." Lockdown knew that mentioning Megatron would sour Cipher's mood. _Good. _

Cipher froze. "What else did he say?"

"Nothin' much," Lockdown smiled. "Just that he regrets your unwillingness to aid the Decepticon cause."

"Hm. Well. I can't say that I'm too worried about him at the moment, given that he's apparently stuck on some backwater planet. The 'Cons are are dying breed." Cipher tried to sound glib. He failed.

"I dunno. He's up to something." Lockdown scratched at a mark on Prowl's armor. Now that Cipher was suitably intimidated, he changed topic. "...How long do you think hacking this guy'll take, anyhow? Want me to stay here until you're done?" For nine thousand credits, he felt entitled to peer over the kleptographer's shoulder the entire time.

"You might as well hang around and give me pointers while I work." Cipher gave him a level look. "You sure you want to go through with this? I've seen plenty of reprogram jobs turn around and bite people in the aft."

"Yeah, I know; reprogramming is just a quick fix. Nothing beats basic psychological manipulation. I know what I'm getting in to." _Oh really? _Lockdown absently rubbed at his knee. It was still sore.

Cipher shrugged. "Just saying. I can delete some of his memories and create false ones to fill in the gaps, and I can alter his personality variables here and there, _and_ I can install a 'killswitch' so that you have some defense in case he ever turns against you... But I still can't guarantee infallible loyalty."

"I'll worry about that bit. You just fix his CPU."

* * *

His world was darkness without form. There was perfect stillness and lucidity. He was a singularity; he existed everywhere and nowhere. It was the bliss of infinity, and it was all that he had ever known.

Sometimes, he sensed another presence in the darkness, although it was of little consequence to him. The awareness would pass, leaving him in comfortable solitude once again.

Then, out of nowhere, a very troublesome word filled the void:

**REBOOTING...**

...

_Wait, what?_

_..._

Dammit, his infinite peace was _ruined. _

Self-awareness hit him like a supernova, and he was flooded with names, definitions, abstractions, boundaries, concepts. Everything was illuminated, making some things clear while casting others in to shadow. His sensory systems crackled back online... And he realized that he was on his back, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Two strange faces were peering over at him.

He peered back.

* * *

"Ah, there he is," Cipher told Lockdown, just as Prowl's optics came back online and fixed them both with a blank stare. "Give him a moment, it can take them a few cycles to come 'round, and they can be morose and disorientated for megacycles afterw-..."

Prowl sprang up and made a bolt for the nearest exit. They hadn't bothered to restrain him. They hadn't thought they'd have needed to.

"Primus FRAG," Lockdown shouted, and lunged after the fleeing ninjabot. He was just quick enough to tackle Prowl to the ground, and after a bit of clumsy wrestling, he finally managed to get him pinned. "..I swear, this guy doesn't give up."

Prowl fell still, and studiously looked around. There was a sort of simple, animal intelligence to his gaze.

Lockdown kept a firm grip on him. "You know where you are?" he asked, warily.

Prowl regarded him without comprehension, then frowned, deep in thought. When he eventually replied, it was as if he had never spoken before. The words were awkward and flat. "I don't know."

"Do you know what your name is?"

Prowl's expression brightened momentarily, then became unreadable again. "...My name is Prowl?" he said, almost hopefully. Lockdown had let Cipher keep that bit untouched, at least. It was hardly an uncommon name.

"Alright, good. What's my name?"

"I don't know."

"What's the last thing you remember, before waking up?"

"I don't know."

"What's your faction?"

"I don't know."

"If I let you go, do you promise that you won't run away or try to attack me?

"I don't... Alright."

Lockdown let go of Prowl, allowing him to stand up.

Prowl leaned against a table, to steady himself. "Where am I?"

"You're in a medbay." Alright, Cipher's lab _sort_ of looked like a medbay, with its diagnostic machines and tools everywhere. And Cipher had been a qualified medic. A long time ago. Lockdown continued, "You've just recovered from a very dangerous nanovirus that attacked your CPU. We've tried to restore some of your memories, but there's only so much we could do." He shrugged, as if to say, _them's the breaks._

Prowl looked thoughtful, likely trying to understand the significance of this. "...Oh."

Lockdown couldn't resist it; he had to ask. "How do you feel?"

Prowl replied, earnestly, "Like I should be sad about something, but I'm not."

_"_My name's Lockdown. You sure that doesn't ring any bells?"

Prowl just shook his head.

Lockdown feigned disappointment.

Cipher made sure that he was behind Prowl, so that the ninjabot couldn't see him, and discreetly gave Lockdown a thumbs-up.

* * *

Getting Prowl out of the lab and back towards the docking bay took longer than expected. En route, the mech asked a constant stream of questions._ Where are we going? What year is this? What why have you got a hook on the end of your arm? Why are we here? Why do I have a headache? _Et cetera. If this was what a protoform was like, then Lockdown had a pretty valid excuse for hating the little slaggers. (Not that he'd ever really needed a valid excuse for hating protoforms before.)

Gradually, as Prowl started to get his faculties back, the questions became more complicated. "What's my purpose?"

"I'll explain it to you once we're out of this place."

Prowl hesitated. "Why should I go with you?"

"What? You want to stay here?" Lockdown asked. A group of minicons crossed their path, dragging the dismembered torso of a deactivated mech behind them.

Prowl appeared to reconsider things, and shrugged.

The only time Prowl stopped was when he caught his reflection as they passed a polished surface. He squinted at his mirror-image for a few seconds, and absently ran a hand over his face, feeling the patch of dull metal around his optics where his visor had been. His fingers wandered to the tapered antennae of his new audio sensors, and he looked thoughtful.

Lockdown cleared his vocalizer. "...Will you stop preening and hurry up?"

Prowl shot him a wary glance, and quickened his pace to walk by Lockdown's side. He didn't look back.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes and excuses:

I said a while back that I'd try to update once every week. Alas, I suck at deadlines.

This chapter was meant to be longer, but a chunk of it was eaten by my hard drive. So, I thought that I might as well post what I've got; any plot points that I've left hanging will be explained in the next chapter. It has its flaws, but what the heck, I need to keep things moving.

* * *

"What's my purpose?" Prowl repeated.

Ever since they had boarded Lockdown's ship, Prowl had been watching him intently. It didn't help that the ninjabot wasn't in the habit of blinking - unknowingly, he was probably still adjusting to the loss of his visor... And even_ without _the visor, his face still wasn't particularly expressive. Prowl would've made an excellent card player. So stoic and detached. It gave Lockdown an overwhelming urge to hurt him.

Lockdown absently typed some destination co-ordinates in to a navigation console."It should come back to you, in time. Give it a while."

"If I focus, sometimes I can see pictures of a city. It might have been the place where I was created," Prowl replied, without much conviction.

Lockdown feigned interest. "What else?"

"That's about it." There was a sullen note to the ninjabot's tone; Lockdown hoped that it wasn't self-pity, or then he really_ would _have to hurt him. Prowl looked down at the floor, dour-faced.

He cleared his vocalizer to get Prowl's attention again. "You want anything? I've got some energon." _Hey, kid, do you want some candy?_

Prowl responded with an apathetic little 'hmf' noise.

Lockdown took that as a 'yes'. "C'mon, this way."

He led Prowl to the ship's 'infirmary' - which, curiously enough, was the place where he stored his energon stockpile. Mods weren't the only things that Lockdown harvested from the dead. The energon was kept in an explosives storage magazine; Lockdown retrieved a small cube, and offered it to the other mech.

Prowl sat down on the edge of a gurney (the same gurney that he'd been restrained to earlier, in fact), and picked at the cube, listlessly. He seemed more interested in the trophies and tools that lined the walls of the room. Eventually, out of the blue, he said, "I think I was an Autobot."

_Ah, past-tense. Good._

"See? Your memory is coming back. I told you. You just gotta wait a while." Lockdown tried sound encouraging, although it didn't come easily.

Prowl squinted at him - and for a moment, Lockdown had a nasty feeling that the ninjabot had picked up the insincerity in his voice. "How do you know me?"

Lockdown shrugged. "I won you from a dice game on Monacus."

"You _what_?"

"I was playing a bunch of 'Cons for spare parts, and you were part of the pot. Frag knows how I managed to win, 'cos I was completely wasted at the time."

"You're joking, right?"

Lockdown grinned. "If I was gonna lie, I'd make up a better story than_ that_."

"You won me in a dice game, and then took me to a medic?" Prowl sounded incredulous. Lockdown didn't look like much of an altruist.

"Yeah. As I said, I was completely wasted, and I got it in to my head that you might be someone important - so, I thought that if I got a medic to fix you up, you might reward me. It wasn't what you'd call an act of charity." Lockdown gave him a wry look, replying on his 'don't mind me, I'm just a lovable 'ol rogue' schtick. "You sure you're not a shipping magnate, or the heir to a vast mining company? Nothing like that?"

"...No."

"Had to ask," Lockdown said.

Prowl gave Lockdown another suspicious look. "So, what are you going to do with me now?"

"I dunno, Slick. You can stick around here 'till you get more of your memories back. You can earn your keep by doing menial stuff around the ship. Or I can drop you off at the nearest settlement."

Prowl appeared to consider this. It seemed that trust wasn't something that came easily to the ninjabot. "I think I'd like to be dropped off at the nearest settlement. No offense."

"Heh. None taken. I'd feel pretty leery about being stuck on some ship with a strange mech, too."

"It's not that..." Prowl said, out of politeness rather than sincerity. He slowly cycled air through his vents. "I'm sorry. I suppose I should thank you." He fixed Lockdown with a steady gaze, watching his face. "Are you sure you don't want me to repay you in some way?"

"Well..."

Ever so slightly, Prowl flinched, as if he _knew _there'd be a catch.

"You can remember my commlink frequency, just in case you ever change your mind," Lockdown said. "Just be careful out there. It's kind of rough 'round these parts."

Prowl's mouth twisted in to something that was almost a sardonic smile. "Alright."

* * *

Optimus fell in and out of restless recharge. His instincts told him that he should try to escape as soon as possible, while his training told him to wait a while. Making a panicked escape attempt would do him no good, although it was incredibly difficult to plan ahead while tired and anxious.

During his waking moments, he had attempted to file away the hinges of the cell's doorway with a rock. This proved fruitless, so he tried another way; using the severed finger (it was easier if he thought of it as a random shard of metal, rather than someone's body part), he used the sharpened edge of it to try and prise out the hinge pins.

It was slow going, but he eventually managed to pull one of pins out by a tiny amount.

His efforts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. _What, again?_ Optimus tried to disguise what he had been doing, then pretended to be in stasis. He wondered how long it had been since Megatron had last paid him a visit. Probably not as long as it felt.

This time, though, it wasn't Megatron. It was Lugnut. The Decepticon opened the door slightly, so that he could peer suspiciously at Optimus. Then, he set a very small can of oil down on the floor, and stepped in to the cell properly, careful to close the door behind him. Lugnut lumbered over, and said 'hello' by kicking Optimus' shoulder.

Optimus grunted, and reflexively moved away from Lugnut. "What do you want?"

"Lord Megatron orders you to refuel."

Optimus took the can; Lugnut watched him. Optimus decided to peer back at the larger mech. A short staring contest ensued.

Lugnut won; Optimus just decided to drink some of the damn oil, in the hope that the Decepticon would leave him alone again.

It was like trying to swallow tar. Optimus didn't have much of an appetite. He decided to stall somewhat; "Why is Megatron keeping me alive?"

The blow seemed to come out of nowhere. Lugnut's fist cracked Optimus on the underside of his jaw. "You are not fit to say his name. If you _must_, then you will refer to him as _Lord _Megatron."

Optimus tried to sit up again, and waited for his head to clear - he had never really appreciated before how _bugfrag insane _Lugnut was. Previously, he had only ever seen the other mech up close during combat, and there had never been much time for reflection.

Perhaps it was the knock to the head that did it, but something compelled Optimus to ask, "Why do you love him?" Because that's what it seemed to be. Love.

The question actually gave Lugnut pause. "Someone like you wouldn't understand," he said.

Another mech might have left it at that; but no, it seemed that Lugnut wanted to explain his infatuation in flord detail. He continued; "He is a Leader. A true leader, unlike the decadent politicians of your society. Lord Megatron has power, and he has the courage and intelligence to use it without regret. Power without action is meaningless. This is why Lord Megatron deserves to rule; not because of who he is, but because of what he does."

Lugnut gave Optimus another kick, just to make sure that he was listening. "In my time, I have seen many leaders come and go. The worst ones were the weak, ineffective ones. A weak leader is worse than anarchy. Lord Megatron is not weak. Lord Megatron never hesitates. Lord Megatron takes his subordinates' lives in to his own hands, and uses them as he sees fit. Death is the nature of warfare. But to die serving Lord Megatron... That is glorious."

Optimus sat there, in a rather stunned silence. He'd always assumed that Lugnut was just_ stupid_.

"Well?" Lugnut demanded.

"Wha-... Er. I've... finished drinking this oil." Optimus offered the can back.

Lugnut grabbed the can in a massive claw, then stomped out.

* * *

Lockdown took Prowl to Vris, a drab little moon in the orbit of an ancient gas giant. During the journey, Lockdown explained the place to Prowl; a long time ago, Vris had been the site of an Autobot energon refinery, but the plant had been taken over by opportunistic Neutralists around the time when the Great War began. The majority of Vris' occupants lived in the extensive tunnels beneath the moon's surface, while the surface itself (as well as the refinery) was dominated by a cartel of minor crime lords.

It wasn't exactly a friendly sort of place; but hey, if Prowl wanted to be dropped off there, then who was Lockdown to argue? It _was_ the nearest settlement.

They reached Vris in a matter of megacycles. Prowl offered a polite farewell, then exited the ship.

It was only later that Lockdown realized the ninjabot had managed to steal a rather expensive set of vibroscalpels from one of his tool racks.

_Good, _Lockdown thought. The blades would likely help Prowl pass his first test.

* * *

Vris' docking bay was a vast grey cavern, large enough to hold several Autobot frigates at any one time. It was mostly empty, save for a few battered vessels that bore no faction markings.

Prowl looked around. The only other people present at the docks were a bunch of garishly-colored 'bots, loitering on one of the gangways. They talked amongst themselves; Prowl's sensitive audios picked up a mix of pidgin Autobot and Empty patois. One of the 'bots noticed him looking at them, and shouted something in his direction. Prowl had no idea what he said, but he was pretty sure that it was a proposition. He quickened his pace and hurried onwards.

He soon found himself travelling downwards, towards the moon's center, via a huge, foul-smelling tunnel that was strewn with debris. Its floor was covered in a greasy residue, forcing him to watch where he stepped. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that the place was completely uninhabited; however, from somewhere ahead, he could hear music and shouting. _Mostly_ shouting. As he drew nearer, he noticed that most of the noise was coming from behind the large hatches that were set high up in the tunnel's walls - a few of them had signs on them, although they were in a language that he didn't recognize. One of the signs looked awfully similar to the Autobot word for 'bar'.

Prowl decided to wait a while, to see if anyone would come out. He sat down at the side of the tunnel, loitering in the shadows, and took stock of his situation.

For the first time, he noticed that he had two orange finges on his left hand, while the palm was marred by four long, faded scratches. He flattened his fingers against his palm, and realised that his fingertips matched the grooves perfectly. Odder still, there was a fifth, fainter scratch on his palm, in the shape of a wavy line. It was too simple and clumsy to be an Autobot glyph, although it could have been the start of one.

It made him curious, so he ran a diagnostic on himself, to see if there were any reports of damage or recent repairs. A standard 'all systems nominal' message flashed at the periphery of his vision. Prowl summoned a system log. The audit trail was only coherent as far back as the last few megacycles, and then it went all... Weird.

Not helpful.

Granted, it didn't help that he had never been very good at making sense of his own system logs to begin with. Few mechs had the knack; most took their existence for granted. Maybe he could visit a medic who could decypher the codes for him? Prowl had a dim recollection of the medic who'd been present when he first woke up - although, he'd never caught his name, and the memory was already fading. Perhaps he should ask Lockdown. Frag it, why didn't he ask him back when he was still on the ship? Why was it so hard to think properly? Was Prowl _built stupid_, or was he just having a bad day?

He rubbed at his temples, frustrated with himself, then forced his mind to focus on his surroundings. Inevitably, he wondered why he seemed to be the only person in the tunnel.

A few cycles later, he realized why.

The tunnel was part of the refinery's waste disposal system.

There was the sound of rushing water, and a torrent of viscous black liquid flushed through the passageway, almost knocking Prowl off his feet. He clung to the tunnel's wall, and swore quietly in disgust; the liquid was soon deep enough to reach his knees.

Trying not to slip over in the liquid's current, he waded over to the hatch that seemed to have the word 'bar' painted on it. It was located halfway up the wall, well above the waterline of the refinery waste, and out of Prowl's reach. There was no ladder, so he warily tested his jump-jets, then leapt up on to the ledge of the hatch, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

He was greeted by humid warmth, noise, and the stink of burning hydrocarbons. The place really _was_ a bar, although the chemical fumes were so thick that it was a small wonder it hadn't spontaneously combusted.

Prowl looked around, sizing up the patrons, and... coughed.

Twelve pairs of red optics glanced up from their drinks, and peered at him.

Prowl froze where he was, and found himself looking at eight very inebriated war machines. The largest was at least twice his size, and bristled with weapons. The mech had hardpoints on his hardpoints. Heck, the group looked like they were having a competition amongst themselves to see who could cram the most ordnance on to their chassis without toppling over from the weight.

"Heeeeeey," one of them said - in Autobot, oddly enough - and lazily pointed a claw in Prowl's direction. "I've not seen him before."

"He's new."

"Let's kill him."

"Okay."

Prowl paused, trying to figure out if they were joking or not.

They weren't.

One of them was already aiming some an arm-mounted harpoon-thing at him.

"Guys..." he began.

There was a whoosh, and the harpoon hit the wall a handspan away from his left shoulder.

Prowl knew when he was outnumbered; turned and _ducked right back out the hatch again_. He glanced back, only to witness the pack of overcharged Decepticons scramble from their seats and make a drunken dash after him, punching and kicking each other in their haste. Somewhere, a very irate bartender was shouting about property damage.

Leaping down from the hatch, he landed back in the tunnel with a splash; his instincts screamed at him to shift in to alt mode, but it'd be pointless in his current environment. So, he ran. Behind him, one of the 'Cons tried to transform in to some sort of V/STOL craft, got stuck half-way, and tripped nosecone-first, causing a pile-up as four of his peers tripped over his tailfins. (One of them had to slow down and drop out of the chase, presumably so that he could go throw up somewhere.) The other three (who were appeared to be more sober) bounded over their comrades, swearing at each other and shouting slurred war cries.

"Come back, you fragging piece of consumer goods!" bellowed a stocky brute with kill markings painted on his fuselage. "I'm gonna dismantle you!"

Prowl tried Lockdown's commlink frequency. There was no reply.

One of the 'Cons lunged at him, trying to tackle him to the ground. Prowl leapt out of the way and, out of pure reflex, gave the 'Con a swift kick in the head. The 'Con only blinked, then grabbed Prowl's leg.

Prowl remembered the vibroscalpels he'd stolen, and pulled one of them from its hiding place under the vambrace of his outer armor. He sliced off the Decepticon's thumb, causing him to let go, then flung the blade at the mech's face. The Decepticon toppled backwards with the scalpel embedded deep between his optics.

Prowl stopped, horrorfied. The other Decepticons skidded to a hault, apparently more interested in their fallen drinking buddy than Prowl.

The group exchanged glances. "Did he just kill Fullbore?" one of them asked.

"Awesome," someone else said.

Prowl started running again, while they were distracted. He chanced another glance over his shoulder, just to make sure that they weren't following, and looked back just in time to see 'Fullbore' sit bolt upright with an almighty roar and yank the vibroscalpel out of his forehead, tossing it away. For a dead mech, he was looking remarkably angry.

Prowl quickened his pace, and tried Lockdown's commlink again - this time, there was a response. "Yeah?"

"I've changed my mind," Prowl said, with all the sang-froid he could muster while fleeing a group of overcharged robot nihilists. "I'm... sorry I didn't accept your offer of staying..." He slipped in the greasy liquid, and had to scramble to get back on his feet. "...Aboard your ship. _Isyourofferstillopen_?"

"I guess so. I'll be back 'round Vris some time in the next few decacycles. I can pick you up then," Lockdown replied.

Fullbore was gaining on him again.

Prowl turned to face Fullbore properly, and pulled another vibroscalpel out from under his vambrace."_You sure you can't stop by earlier_?"

"You're not in trouble, are ya?" Lockdown asked, innocently.

"A bit." Prowl managed to duck as Fullbore tried to punch him - which was lucky, as Fullbore's fist was larger than Prowl's head - and slashed at Fullbore's arm. Prowl didn't know if it was due to luck or some innate skill, but the blade cut through Fullbore's armor, severing a hydraulic cable. This just made the Decepticon even angier, and he screamed at his comrades to shoot Prowl. The other 'Cons started firing at him. Prowl was delighted to realize that their aim was_ terrible_.

"Alright. Give me a megacycle or so," Lockdown said, although Prowl barely heard him.

Prowl ducked, and dived between Fullbore's legs, running _back_ towards the firing Decepticons - which seemed to confuse the heck out of them. A stray bolt of plasma caught Fullbore in the wing; Prowl might have been outgunned, but at least he made a smaller target. Fullbore lost interest, and decided to start punching the mech responsible for putting a hole in one of his ailerons. It seemed to occur to the Decepticons that it might be more fun to kill _each other_.

Prowl skidded back 'round, and ran back to the docks.

Waiting for Lockdown was going to be the longest megacycle of his life. Not that he had much to compare it to.


	6. Chapter 6

"What's so funny?" Prowl asked. The tone of his voice made absolute zero seem comparatively cosy.

Lockdown didn't bother trying to hide his grin. "You're pouting."

"...I'm not pouting."

"Kid, if your bottom lip stuck out any further, you'd trip over it."

True to his word, Lockdown had arrived on Vris a megacycle or so after Prowl had called him. The ninjabot had stalked aboard his ship, leaving a trail of dirty footprints in his wake, and asked - no, _demanded_- for some solvent to clean himself off with. Now, Lockdown had never been too fussy about good manners, but it had struck him that Prowl's social skills were somewhat lacking. Under more favorable circumstances, the ninjabot probably came across as aloof and stoic: quietly charismatic, perhaps. Dignified. Reserved. However, the mech that Lockdown had aboard his ship was a rather different creature. This Prowl was standoffish, icy and disorientated. If Lockdown hadn't already invested so much time and money in the kid, then he likely would've sold the ninjabot's sullen aft on the black market already.

They stood on the bridge, while Prowl furiously scrubbed at his armor with an acrylic brush. "I walked in to a bar..." It sounded like the start of a bad joke. _A ninjabot walks in to a bar. Ouch. _"...And a group of overcharged mechs tried to attack me."

"I told you it was kinda rough 'round these parts. Maybe it was happy hour." Lockdown said, watching as the other mech cleaned himself. "What was their faction?"

"They looked like Decepticons, but they were speaking Autobot," Prowl replied. "...Can you turn your back to me, please?"

Lockdown obliged, because he was such a fragging gentleman - although he still risked a sneaky peek over his shoulder, just in time to witness Prowl scoop a handful of gunk out of his left jet exhaust. Lockdown promptly looked away again. He wasn't squeamish, but there were some things that he could live without seeing.

Lockdown stared straight ahead. "Yeah, that figures. They've got plenty of ex-Autobots in their ranks."

Prowl's curiosity managed to override his bad mood. "Why?"

"When the Great War ended, a lot of mechs found it kinda hard to live without a war to fight, so they quit being Autobots. Some of 'em became criminals, some of 'em became Neutral mercenaries, and some of 'em swapped sides." It had been surprisingly good for business; there had been an increase in the number of bounties posted, as the Autobot authorities wanted the 'traitors' to be brought to justice, and a lot of the Decepticon bigwigs didn't give two hoots about the safety of a bunch of ex-Autobot tagalongs. Lockdown had made good money, hunting down disillusioned war veterans...

Prowl spoke again, causing Lockdown to snap out of his reverie. "Is that what you did?" he asked.

"What?"

"Leave the Autobots after the war?"

"Heh. No." _Mind your own business_. Lockdown turned around to face Prowl again. "...What gave you the impression I was an Autobot?"

Prowl shrugged unhelpfully, and started to rinse himself off with the solvent. He looked thoughtful.

"You've missed a bit," Lockdown said, pointing at Prowl's torso.

Prowl glanced down at himself, clearly irritated again. "Where?"

Lockdown approached, getting just close enough to invade the other mech's personal space. Prowl tensed, and glared at him, but didn't move. Perhaps he didn't want to make it appear as if Lockdown intimidated him, but lacked the confidence to tell Lockdown to frag off.

It was odd, though; Lockdown was something of an expert at sensing fear, and to his knowledge, Prowl didn't seem scared. Just extremely wary. Lockdown idly wondered what it would take to spook the kid. The old Prowl seemed to have had a pretty healthy sense of fear, prior to getting his mind fragged. Perhaps_ this _Prowl's bravado was due to naivity, rather than courage; did he have any recollection of what pain felt like? Sure, Prowl was smart enough to understand the concept of pain in an abstract sense, but pain was one of those things that you had to experience firsthand before you could fully respect it.

Time would tell.

Lockdown trailed his index finger down the center of Prowl's back, just between the 'wings' of the other mech's jetpack. Any erotic potential that the gesture had was rather ruined by the fact that the grease _stank like the sump of Unicron himself_. He then held up his finger to show that it was stained with grime. "See? Pass me the solvent."

Prowl gave him another one of those icy looks. "I can do it myself, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Lockdown pretended to lose interest, and went to lean against a wall. "So, what happened with the mechs who attacked you?"

"I fought them, then ran."

"And how many of them were there?"

"Eight," Prowl said, tiredly.

"You fought eight Decepticons, then out-ran them?"

"They were very drunk."

Lockdown looked Prowl up and down. "You're kinda small to be fighting eight Decepticons, aintcha?"

"It wasn't much of a fight," Prowl muttered.

"Humor me," Lockdown replied, with a disarming grin. "Walk me through it, step-by-step."

"I stepped in to the bar, and one of them shot at me. Don't ask me why, because I have no idea how drunk a person needs to be before they start attacking complete strangers. I immediately_ left _the bar again. However, one of them caught up with me, so I kicked him, and managed to fight him off."

"What, you did all of this while armed more with nothing more than a bunch of itty-bitty scalpels?"

There was an awkward pause.

"...Oh." Prowl's electromagnetic field flickered in embarrassment, and he removed the rest of the stolen scalpels out from under his vambrace, setting them down on the nearest table. "I'm... really sorry. I thought they might come in useful."

"Don't worry, it's not as if I've never taken anything before. And it seems like you needed 'em."

"It won't happen again," Prowl said, still contrite. "I'm not a thief."

_If you say so,_ Lockdown thought. "Kid? Shut the frag up. You were just being pragmatic, and there ain't nothing wrong with that. I'll overlook it this once, but if you take anything of mine again, I'm gonna to airlock you. Understood?"

"Understood."

Lockdown gave Prowl a patient look. "There're only five scalpels here. They were meant to be a pack of six."

"Yes. I, er, threw one of them at the Decepticon's head."

Lockdown laughed at him.

Prowl was not a mech who appreciated being laughed at, especially not while he was disorientated, uncertain, and generally in a bad mood. Mind-fragged or not, Prowl still had an ego. At the best of times, it probably manifested itself as a sense of quiet pride - however, right now, it came out as more of a sort of bratty indignation. "...Look, I'm not so_ stupid _that I thought I'd seriously damage him. It was meant to be a distraction; _most_people recoil when there's a sharp object flying at their face, even if they can easily block it. Besides, his reach was far better than mine, so it seemed that a ranged attack was my only option. Also, there's a sensory conduit close to the surface of the outer cranial structure. When hit at the right angle, it can leave an opponent incapacitated for decacycles. I was actually worried that I might have killed him." The words came out in a rapid stream, acerbic and insecure.

_I was actually worried that I might have killed him._Prowl was too earnest for his own good. Lockdown stopped laughing - or at least, he muted it down to a sardonic chuckle - and held up his hand. "Alright, kid; don't trip your circuits."

Prowl straightened his posture, and checked himself. "Sorry. I'm just..."

"...Not yourself?" Lockdown finished for him.

Prowl only nodded.

Lockdown regarded Prowl with an academic sort of interest, disguised as concern. "Why would it bother you so much if you killed him or not?"

"If I was capable of killing a complete stranger, who knows what else I could be capable of?" Prowl said, with a shrug.

"It would have been in self-defense, though."

"That's not the point."

"Prowl," Lockdown said. "You're naive. Besides, you've lost your memories. How do you know you've not killed anyone before?"

Clearly, Prowl hadn't really considered that prospect. It gave him pause.

"Heh. I'm just saying, is all. Don't let it bother you." Lockdown gave him a wry grin. "'Sides, you seem to have some latent combat ability. I mean, that bit about the sensory conduit - that's not something that everyone knows. Those kinds of skills are always useful, and it's not like you've got much else to trade on."

Prowl hesitantly asked, "So, I can stay on your ship, for now?

"Yeah. Although, somehow..." Lockdown glanced over to the scalpels that Prowl had previously stolen, "...I don't think I'm gonna want you doing menial work."

"I told you, I'm not going to steal anything again-"

Lockdown cut him off. "That's not what I meant. My point was, I can probably find other jobs for you that suit you better."

"Wait a nanoklik." Prowl held up a hand, and eyed Lockdown suspiciously. "Just what is it that you do, again? I don't believe you've told me yet."

Lockdown gave him Roguish Grin Number 5: brazen, confident, and just a little bit sly. "I'm a freelance law enforcer."

His statement was followed by another awkward silence.

"...You're a mercenary," Prowl said, flatly. He might have been naive, but he wasn't stupid; he'd noticed the various weapons and mods that lined the walls. Lockdown didn't have much of a knack for interior decor. "You hunt people."

"Correction: I hunt _criminals_." Well. Most of them were criminals. Lockdown's targets had often broken _some_law, even if said law wasn't always an 'official' one by Autobot standards. Laws could be terribly subjective; the legality of certain things often depended on which part of the galaxy you were in, and the number of witnesses involved. "You got a problem with that?"

Prowl had to give it serious consideration, then hesitantly replied, "No. I suppose not." On the face of it, Lockdown _was _treating him pretty well, and it seemed that the ninjabot would take any help he could get. Even if that help came in the form of a dirty old bastard with a hook for a hand.

Lockdown's mouth twisted in to a humorless smile. "Good. I'm sure I can find stuff for you to do. Nothin' too crooked, of course - I'm not going to force you to get your hands dirty." Nope; Prowl had to get his hands dirty by his own volition, just like everybody else. "We'll see what needs doing. Plus, you're gonna be on probation for a while, 'cos I hardly know you."

"Of course. I hardly know me, either." Prowl returned the smile. "Which reminds me - what was the name of the medic who treated me?"

"Him? He's called Spline." Lockdown wasn't lying about that - Cipher _was _known as Spline, a very long time ago. It wasn't an uncommon name among programmers; although, the caste made up a tiny percentage of the general population, as the government didn't like having too many of them running around at any one time. 'Spline' was a nice, generic name. 'Cipher' had a bit of a reputation attached to it. "Let me guess: you've got questions you want to ask him, right?"

"I want him to look at my system logs," Prowl said.

Lockdown gave him a blank look, as if to say, 'what do you want me to do about it?' "That's gonna take money," he replied. "And we're heading _away _from his ship right now. I can give you one of his commlink frequencies, but we're probably out of range, and he gets real unfriendly if you try to discuss business over the 'comm with him. Still, you can try."

For a moment, it seemed like Prowl was tempted to try and negotiate with Lockdown, although Lockdown's expression told him that turning back probably wasn't an option. "Where are we heading?" Prowl asked. "Will there be medics there?"

Lockdown gestured to one of the navigation consoles. "Place called Kalis, on Cybertron. I've got business there. I know a few medics in the area, but like I said, it's gonna take money."

Apparently, Prowl wasn't so stupid as to ask Lockdown for a loan. The ninjabot shrugged, and brushed a remaining speck of dried-on grime off his armor. "I guess I'll have to pull my weight, then."

Ratchet had placed Sari in the care of a (rather bemused) Captain Fanzone. It was only a temporary measure - Ratchet wanted the small human out of the base for a few megacycles. There were things that he needed to discuss with the others, and Sari had shown herself to be remarkably adept at eavesdropping.

With Sari out of the way, he called a meeting.

Bumblebee spoke first. "So, what now?"

Ratchet crossed his arms, and gave the two younger bots a patient look. "We wait for the Elite Guard to get here, and continue searching in the meantime."

Bumblebee immediately frowned. Bulkhead, meanwhile, remained silent, simply listening with a thoughtful expression.

"That's _it_?" said Bee.

"Yes."

The yellow mech started marching towards one of the factory's loading bays. "Frag that, I'm not waiting around for the Elite Guard to come and fix everything. I'm going to go look for Optimus and Prowl by myself. We'd cover more ground if we split up."

Ratchet stepped in front of him. "No. We search together, as a group. You're staying with us, and that's an order."

"Who died and made you leader?" Bumblebee asked, then immediately realized how inappropriate the question was, given the context. Ratchet didn't dignify it with a response, while Bulkhead just winced.

"Bumblebee..." Bulkhead said, quietly. "Let's just do what Ratchet says, okay?"

Bumblebee sullenly sat down on a stack of crates, and gave Bulkhead a bit of a glare.

Ratchet tried to be empathetic, although it came out as sounding rather forced. "Look. This isn't easy for any of us, and I don't want to make things worse than they already are. I'm considering putting Sari in the custody of the human authorities, until the Decepticons are no longer a threat-"

Bumblebee interrupted, muttering, "I'm sure that'll go down_ real _well."

"It's for her own safety," Ratchet snapped, more annoyed by Bumblebee's passive-aggression than anything else. Bee was more tolerable when he was being _actively_ aggressive.

Bulkhead hesitantly spoke up. "Bee's right. We're her only family. She's gonna be really upset. 'Sides, are the other humans gonna be any better at keeping her safe than we are?"

"I don't know," Ratchet said, flatly. "So far, we've been doing a pretty poor job at keeping people safe."

Bulkhead raised a large fist, like a protoform trying to answer a question during an induction class. "What if we asked the humans for help? They've got a military."

Heck, humans had _lots_of militaries. They were a very martial race, and Ratchet didn't fully trust the little organic creatures. Granted, every human was a complicated, nuanced individual, each with his own agenda, and Ratchet knew that it was wrong to generalize, but... As a species, humans were ambitious and greedy. They had far too much in common with Cybertronians, in that regard.

Sometimes, humans even reminded Ratchet of Scraplets. They were so small, and it was easy to mistake them as being harmless, until you noticed one of them looking at you with a covetous sort of speculation in his optics. And there was just so many of them. It was enough to make a mech worry.

"No," said Ratchet. "The human authorities have mostly left us alone so far. This is a Cybertronian matter, and should be dealt with by Cybertronians." Technically, the government had some pretty strict rules about involving alien species in the Autobot-Decepticon conflict, but it seemed too late to be worrying about that now. All Ratchet could do was attempt to minimize the damage. "If the humans decide to get involved on their own, then that's a different matter. But we're not going to ask them for help."

Bulkhead didn't seem completely satisfied by this reply, but he obediently nodded all the same. His thoughtful expression persisted.


End file.
